


Of Stage Dads and Stray Wolves

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, Christmas pageant, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: There's a stray wolf on the loose, Brienne and Jaime are throwing swords, Robin Arryn has a Stage-Mum, Shireen Baratheon has a Stage-Stannis, Daenerys might blow everything up, and Robb Stark stole Roose Bolton's mince pie.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the 24th day on JBO Christmas Calendar.

“Davos, this programme is a disgrace!” Stannis snarled, flapping up and down the glossy pages. 

Davos looked up from the bow he was tying at the end of Shireen’s plait.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked, pecking Shireen on the forehead with a kiss. “Shireen has a lovely little piece.”

“I’ve got half a page all about me,” Shireen piped up, angelic in her ribbons and red velvet frock,

“ _Half_ a page.” Stannis’s face was puce, as purple and ripe to burst as a plum squeezed by his ‘seasonal’ grey tie with the ‘festive’ single red stripe. “ _Half a page_. She should have a double page spread! Look at the space they gave Daenerys Targaryen. No daughter of mine will be a footnote to another woman’s act. And just look at her name.”

“They printed her name in very large letters,” Davos pointed out mildly.

“In _comic sans,”_ Stannis growled. 

The programme was running thus. Children’s choir first, to warm up the crowd. Then Robb and Arya Stark’s wolf act, which had to come on early so that the wolves weren’t hanging around backstage for too long. The children’s choir again, then Margaery Tyrell’s dance troupe ‘Winter Roses’ was to follow, proceeding Roose Bolton’s knife throwing act (medic on stand by, lest his sweet, giggly wife get skewered. You could never be too careful with the Boltons.) Then little Shireen’s solo, coming just before the Lannister-Tarth’s sword juggling (to break up the projectile blade acts). This was followed by one more carol by the choir, before finishing off with Daenerys Targaryen’s fireworks display. A natural conclusion, for not only should every finale have fireworks, it meant that none of the other acts would miss going on if the stage burned down and the audience had to be evacuated. 

It was going to be an inordinately perilous Christmas show.

Two more attempts were made at the local Christmas Display contest, until the feuding became so severe as to break out into literal warfare on the streets. The local council _had_ declared that anyone found using illegal methods to win the contest would suffer a five point deduction from their final score, but that did little to prevent the onslaught of backstabbing and bloodshed.

Evidently, contestants had merely taken the news as an incentive to make sure that any criminal acts had to be really effective to be worth the point loss. 

The competition was scrapped, and instead an annual Christmas show was announced to raise community spirit. Carol singing, mince pies and novelty acts. Nice, safe and organised.

The council had underestimated their people’s ability to turn the most innocent of occasion into a bloodbath.

~

“I still say _Robin_ should have had that solo,” Lysa insisted, her nasal voice filling the halls of the local theatre. “My boy has the voice of an angel. _Clearly_ his foolish teachers and these simpleton organisers lack the taste to appreciate true talent.”   
  


The other parents and their children shrugged it off. Lysa had been whining about the blessed solo ever since it had been granted to Shireen in September. The parents of the Wintertown Children’s choir all had their own grumblings about the programme, bitching to their friends and family down the phone that it should have been _their_ little sugar plum honoured with a solo. But they were all mature, upstanding members of society. They followed the social code that dictated any and all complaints should be addressed entirely behind the organisers’ backs where they couldn’t hear them. To their faces and the faces of the other parents, they were all sweetness and gratitude. 

Lysa Arryn had no such awareness. She complained to the parents, the organisers, the teachers, the librarian, the boy at the fish stall, and to Stannis Baratheon himself. 

The other parents helping out with the choir were equal parts entertained and aggrieved by Lysa Arryn’s campaign. It was always a pleasure to witness a person’s bad attitude drive them to humiliate themselves. It served well to assure the parents of their own superiority. Compared to Lysa Arryn; with her perpetual pout and her never ending list of quibbles and grievances, all the other parents could pat themselves on the back for their easy ‘go with the flow’ approach.

But there was a limit. 

And stuck inside a cramped dressing room, with forty over excited children screeching and squealing and losing their socks, and Lysa Arrya complaining non-stop for the entire duration of rehearsal _and_ performance, not only had that limit been broken, but smashed and stamped under foot into the finest of powders. 

“This dressing room will not do!” Lysa hissed, glaring around the occupants of the cramped changing area with contempt. “Surely there must be something more appropriate for my boy.”

“It suits the rest of us fine,” said sweet, sensible and thoroughly sickened Gilly Tarly, wrestling a squirming Sam Jr into an oversized black t-shirt stapled with silver tinsel. “If it works for us, it should work for you.” She ducked as Lyanna Mormont hurled her trainer across the room, just dodging the perilous projectile.

“My son cannot _possibly_ be expected to stay cooped up back here, with all the noise and the mess,” Lysa insisted. “Not when he is performing. He _is_ first triangle, I will remind you. He needs peace and calm to prepare for his appearances.”

It was Ellaria Sand who snapped. “Shireen Baratheon has her own small dressing room at the end of the hall,” she said shortly, Elia’s braids getting all in a tangle as she fidgeted on her mother’s lap. “I’m sure there will be room enough for you to squeeze Robin in, if you ask.”

Lysa tossed her head and grabbed Robin’s bony wrist. “I will do just that!” she declared. 

~

“Arya, you are not to leave me alone tonight,” Robb insisted as they did a final check on the penn, ensuring the gates were locked up tight and there were no holes in the wire mesh.

Arya rolled her eyes. “It’s a fucking mince pie, Robb,” she swore. “You’re not in any jeopardy over a single mince pie, even if Roose Bolton had marked it out for himself.”

Robb gave a bitter laugh. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes when he saw me at rehearsal. It will be a miracle if I make it to New Year’s. Please Arya.”

“Need your little sister for protection?” Arya said with a smirk.

Robb rubbed her shoulder. “And I ask for it utterly without shame. If anyone is a match for Bolton, it’s you little sister. And we both know it.”

“Fine,” Arya agreed, softening as Robb’s flattery, and the use of Jon’s special name for her. “Minus an emergency with the wolves, I will stick to you like glue.” She nodded in satisfaction at the pen. “And there is no way these wolves are getting out. Not by a long shot.” 

~

Brienne hadn’t even wanted to be in the Christmas show, not really. Her performing career had begun and ended with her stint as first king in her school’s nativity.

_(_ Her single line, “Look, there’s a really bright star, let’s follow it!” accompanied with some very enthusiastic pointing, moved her father to tears.)

But Jaime, never one to back down from a challenge, knew his Wench too well. How was Brienne to resist Jaime’s suggestion that they try taking up sword juggling? They had been practising since January, ever since the announcement for the show had been made. They had both begun training at the same time, and yet Jaime insisted that he was the star act.

“Excuse me,” he jovially asked a stage hand on their arrival at the theatre, “can you point me and my lovely assistant to our dressing room?”

“Will you quit calling me your assistant,” Brienne grumbled as she lugged their sword cases down the twisting corridors. “We’re a duo.”

“A duo in which I am the star,” Jaime agreed pleasantly.

“How are you the star?” Brienne demanded.

“Because my sweetest Wench, unlike you, I have a little thing called ‘showmanship’,” Jaime explained gently. “When we’re up on stage tonight, it will be me all eyes will be fixed upon.”

“Oh?” Brienne huffed, “And what makes you so sure of that? From what I can recall, we both have the same routine.”

“Everyone will be watching me because you’re too cautious Wench, too focussed on keeping your swords in the air.” 

“They’re _swords,”_ Brienne pointed out. “Sharp, pointy, stabby swords! I would have thought that keeping your focus on the swords would be sensible practise.”

“Exactly!” Jaime asserted. “And audiences don’t watch sword jugglers for ‘sensible practise’. They watch for drama and daring-do. And Wench, as much as I love you dearly, you are in possession of neither of those qualities.” He nudged their dressing room door open with his shoulder. “Here we are,” he announced. “After you, my lovely assistant.”

“Lovely assistant.” Brienne stomped into the dressing room with a glower. “I’ll show you _lovely assistant,_ ” she muttered under her breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entry for Christmas Day! Hope you all enjoy, and big thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed or left kudos. Merry Christmas!

“What do you think you are doing here?” Stannis demanded as Lysa thrust open the door and marched into the room, Robin trailing helplessly behind her. 

“Robin cannot spend the evening cooped up in that wretched dressing room,” she announced, proprietorially dropping her handbag onto the dressing table, Robin’s garment bag following suit.

“I suppose there is room enough for two-” Davos began reasonably, only for Stannis to cut him off roughly.

“Absolutely not,” Stannis insisted. “This dressing room is for the soloist. Shireen is the soloist, and therefore this her rightful dressing room. Her rightful,  _ private  _ dressing room.”

Shireen tugged on Davos’s hand, rising to her tip-toes to whisper into her stepdad’s ear.

“I would actually rather go join the other children, Daddy,” she confided to him. “Mrs Tully-Arryn can have this room.”

Davos nodded. “Alright sweetheart, if you would like to go, we will just tell your-” he cut off as Shireen frantically shook her head.

“I  _ think  _ Dad should stay here,” she explained. “He needs some quiet time.”

Davos gave his husband a speculative look, Stannis and Lysa still in the thick of their sniping. He winked. “Perhaps you are right,” he agreed quietly. He discretely gathered Shireen’s coat and bookbag, and the two fugitives scurried from the room, leaving two ranting, oblivious adults and a rather desolate Robin in their wake.

~

“I know it’s just Jaime being a prima donna,” Brienne explained, watching Margaery stretch her white limbs and toned arms. Margaery had wanted Brienne to spot her during her warm up. The show was starting soon, and Margaery was leaving it fine to get her makeup and hair done, but she insisted she needed a proper stretch, and she needed Brienne to watch.

Not that Brienne minded. Margaery was a good friend, always willing to lend a friendly ear. She was more touchy feely what what Brienne was used to, but that was just her way.

Jaime didn’t like her, for some reason. 

“I hate to tell you this, Brienne,” Margaery said, taking a break from her warm ups to run a commiserating hand up and down Brienne’s brawny arm. “But it sounds like you and Jaime have lost...shall we say, a spark.”

“Really?” Brienne asked anxiously. 

“Really,” Margaery said seriously. “It sounds like the fire has gone out of your relationship.”

“Fire?” Brienne repeated, her forehead creasing in thought. “Fire...that’s it! Fire!”

And like that, Brienne jumped to her feet and sped off to the door, Margaery watching helplessly. 

“Where are you going?” she called.

“To speak to Daenerys,” Brienne yelled over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.

“ _ Daenerys _ ?” Margaery blinked, her pretty pink mouth pouting as she stared down the empty corridor. “Fine, fine. I’ve been here for you for years, stuck by your side, and Daenerys  _ knows _ I called dibs. But that’s fine, whatever.” 

Arya sprinted into the room, face red and still in her costume. She nearly barreled into Margaery, pulling herself short just in time.

“You haven’t seen a wolf wandering about, have you?” she asked desperately. “Quite big. Lots of teeth. Goes by the name of Nymeria?” 

~

Robb’s face was grey and slick with sweat. The elation from the applause that had met their act had melted into a sickly dread, cold and heavy in the pit of his gut. 

Buried in shadows in the wings of the stage, he grasped Arya’s shoulder, causing her to start and curse.

“Where were you?” he hissed. “You promised not to let me out of your sight.”

“Nymeria’s got out,” Arya whispered. “I swear I got her back into the pen and had the gate locked, but when I came back with their feed, she was gone.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Do you have any idea how?” he demanded.

Arya grimaced. “None whatsoever. I just hope I find her before someone gets hurt. I am not having the likes of Aunt Lysa be on my back about  _ putting that savage beast to death.”  _

“It was Bolton,” Robb decided, his hand cold on Arya’s shoulder. “He let her out. He knew you would be distracted looking for her, or he’s going to train her to savage me in my sleep, or I’m going to wake up tomorrow with her severed head on my pillow.”

Arya’s eyes blazed at the notion. “Bolton is not putting a hand on Nymeria,” she declared. “Not if he wants it bitten off.” She shrugged Robb’s hand off her shoulder. “Look, Bolton’s on stage right now. Take a breath and help me look for her, and maybe we will be able to find her before Bolton is off stage.”

Robb took a breath, and cast a defiant look onto the stage, where a sequined and spangled Walda was spinning on a large glitter target. With cold blue eyes and steady hand, Roose Bolton hit his target each time, cradling his knives like a lover.

Robb turned on his heel and swiftly followed his sister down the corridors, peeling his eyes for a rogue wolf. 

~

“You got it!” Daenerys declared in delight. “See, fire tricks aren’t all that difficult once you’ve got the knack of them,” said the woman who had the fire department called to her house five times in the past two months. 

Flushed with success, and jittery with anticipation, Brienne carefully extinguished the dancing blue flames from her three steel swords.

“I really cannot thank you enough,” Brienne said warmly, her somber face smiling and her blue eyes merry.

“So what brought on this change of routine?” Daenerys asked curiously, carefully checking over her equipment.

“Jaime,” Brienne admitted grudgingly. “He said that between the two of us, he was the fun, exciting one, and insinuated that I was the predictable, sensible one.”

“Rude,” Daenerys noted.

“But not wrong,” Brienne said earnestly. “And I..well, I wanted to be the fun one for once. The one to do something spontaneous and thrilling.”

“And nothing works better for a spontaneous thrill than setting stuff on fire,” Daenerys said sincerely. Her pale forehead frowned and her head jerked towards the door. “Did you just hear growling?” 

~

Stannis’s lips grew thin as he watched Roose Bolton begin his finale, throwing multiple knives at his spinning wife left handed with a blindfold on.

“This lighting will not do,” he whispered to Davos as they lurked in the wings. “Run and tell the lighting technician that Shireen is to have a single spotlight. It’s a big stage, so make sure it is bright, otherwise she will be lost in the darkness.”

“Not too bright,” Davos cautioned, patting Shireen’s shoulder. “It can get awfully hot under those lights.”

“All performers have to make sacrifices for the sake of their art,” Stannis sniffed.

“Art isn’t worth Shireen roasting onstage to a crisp,” Davos insisted.

Stannis didn’t even dignify that with a response. 

~

“That should be you on stage, Robin,” Lysa hissed into Robin’s ear, her blue eyes pouring venom onto an oblivious Shireen. 

With a voice as pure as freshly fallen snow, and a smile as sweet as an angel, the little girl sang out to the bewitched auditorium. Lysa wanted to rip the plaits from her scalp.

“I’ve still got first triangle, Mummy,” Robin pointed out. “I end all our songs.”

Lysa softened, and planted a kiss on Robin’s head. “I know my Sweetling. You are making Mummy very proud.”

Still, she sighed in regret as she watched the simpering brat lap up her son’s rightful applause.

Next year, she promised herself. Next year, Robin would be the star, and everyone would see what a special, talented boy her precious son was. 

She dimly remembered the climbing frame in the Baratheons’ back garden, and wondered if there was any way of knocking Shireen from the bars and sending her to A&E on the day of the auditions, without it being linked back to her. 

Lysa felt precious little guilt at such a notion. After all, what child didn’t want to fly? 

~

Their act had already been a success, Jaime’s rakish ‘devil may care’ contrasting charmingly with the peril of their flying swords. As he predicted, Jaime; the natural showman, received the bulk of the audience’s attention. Brienne was very much the support act. 

Until her swords caught fire. After that, not an eye could drag themselves away from Brienne, even those that had to peek through trembling fingers. 

Jaime himself was equal parts surprised and mesmerized, and it was only some really quick reflexes that kept him from dropping his swords and losing his foot.

Not that he cared. Not when Brienne’s large blue eyes so perfectly caught the light of the flame, and her face, so often set in a fim straight line, had broken out into a cheek splitting smile. For once, she stood tall and proud. Shoulders dropped and back straight and beaming. Not cowering from the crowd, nor blocking them from sight and mind, but welcoming them and their thunderous applause into her heart.

Jaime would quite happily have lost both his feet for that sight alone. 

  
  


~

The after-party was buzzing, all the performers alight with the after-glow of a job well done. Friends and families and locals mingled around, taking a break from shopping and cooking to indulge in a slice of yule log, a sausage roll or two (or five) and a glass of sherry. 

The Winter Roses had broken out into a spontaneous dance in the centre of the hall, the rowdy mass of choir children high on sugar joining them. Margaery Tyrell was buried away in a corner, her arm strung around Daenerys Targaryen’s shoulder. 

  
Arya Stark; her wolves safely rounded up and driven home, indulged herself at the buffet table, stacking up her paper plate high with mince pies and black forest gateau and honey mustard sausages.

Roose Bolton had clearly endured enough merriment. He was wrapped up in his severe black woollen coat and leather gloves, and was impatiently tugging at his wife’s arm, insistent that they leave that instant. Walda shook him off, indulging herself in her second glass of port as she pulled a cracker with Davos, her high pitched giggle reaching all corners of the hall as Davos read the joke that had fallen from the shining cardboard 

“All in all, not a bad evening,” Jaime said in satisfaction, coaxing Brienne into eating a sausage roll from his fingers. “If a little bit surprising.”

Brienne smiled bashfully at the floor. “Well,” she suggested, “Perhaps you might agree that I am easily as capable of bringing the drama and daring-do as you are?”

“You certainly proved your worth on stage tonight,” Jaime assured her. “But I still maintain that out of the two of us, my act was the most perilous.”

Brienne’s eyebrow shot up. “My swords were on  _ fire,”  _ she pointed out.

“Ye-es,” Jaime considered, learning forward to whisper into her ear, running a hand down her back, “But you try juggling swords while trying to keep your legs crossed. You don’t know what the sight of you, flaming steel in your hands did to me Wench!” he growled, as Brienne once more caught flame. This time, it was her cheeks that were burning.

“Oi! You two!”

Jaime nearly snarled as Brienne broke away from him. He turned to see Arya Stark, careless and heartless that she had just deprived Jaime of a kiss.

“You’re not still looking for that blasted wolf, are you?” Jaime asked scornfully.

  
_ “No,”  _ Arya replied. “I found Nymeria an hour ago. It’s Robb I’m looking for. Have you guys seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.” 


End file.
